


just morning things

by pinkfen



Series: soft johnmark for the uwu feels [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys In Love, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Fluff, Husbands, Kisses, M/M, Married Life, Mild Sexual Content, Short & Sweet, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, morning fluff, waking up together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfen/pseuds/pinkfen
Summary: Domesticity becomes Mark, Johnny thinks proudly.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: soft johnmark for the uwu feels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143719
Comments: 2
Kudos: 87





	just morning things

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking of my johnmark homies and found this short and sweet cute fluff ficlet I wrote for got7 back in 2016, and idk I just rly wanted to rework and share it with y’all :) hopefully it gives you a few minutes of reading pleasure and domestic vibes
> 
> This is just sappy af and apparently also unintentionally funny bc theres a [non-explicit] scene of johnny getting turned on while mark is asleep and going to jerk off in the bathroom, and one of the commenters on the original fic was like why didnt he just wake him LMAO

Mark blinks drowsily out of warm, sweet slumber to the slightest dipping of their goosefeather queen-sized bed to see Johnny looking sheepish and tender, half-dressed in his work shirt and pressed slacks but hair ruffled with morning haste.

"Did I wake you, babe? I'm sorry." Johnny's voice is softer than down, lulling Mark back into the ocean of sleep as he bends to press a chaste, achingly gentle kiss to Mark's forehead. As he spirals back down into unconsciousness, Mark feels Johnny's large palm fitting against the curve of his forehead with years of easy familiarity, his fingers carelessly and unthinkingly carding through Mark's glossy strands.

Mark knows Johnny's favourite scent and the way he adores how soft Mark's hair is, like the silken fur of a long-haired cat. That's the only reason he's been using the same shampoo for the past nine years.

He knows Johnny likes to bury his nose in Mark's strands, falling asleep surrounded by the fruity lavender fragrance, sometimes nosing into Mark's clavicles and delicate collarbones to seek the more musky aroma of slight perspiration underneath.

He knows that Johnny has risen even before the sun nearly every day for the past decade, like clockwork, and only returning after the sun sets, because he wants to be the sole breadwinner of their family so Mark can be a luxurious house-husband.

*

Now, he tries valiantly to fight back the tempting beast of sleep, because Johnny is the sexiest in the morning, and the most gentle. He's soft in a way he never is when they are both wide awake, pitting both their wits and snark and physical brute strength against each other; subtly engaging in their everlasting battle for dominance, for asserting their aggressiveness and possession over each other's body.

It's early in the morning, when the sun hasn't yet fully risen in the muted lilac-grey sky when Mark sees the submission in Johnny's eyes, the same submission that he feels deep in his soul but has yet to find the courage to profess out loud.

He finally surfaces from oblivion once again, heart jump-starting to see that Johnny is still in the room, sitting on the armchair in the corner and just staring at Mark with hazily hungry eyes and a dreamy half-smile on his face, because he likes Mark best in the mornings too, clingy and cuddly and whiny, reluctant to let him go.

The admiration and ownership in Johnny's gaze is enough to stop Mark's world turning on its axis. Johnny is so breathtakingly confident, in ways that are totally different from Mark -- while Mark is all cocky and boorish arrogance on the outside, wearing his swagger like a designer jacket; Johnny is silent and calm, only the dark depths of his unwavering and unrelenting narrow eyes asserting his dominion.

But, Mark thinks, they are twice as certain when Johnny doesn't even try, when he just sweeps his gaze over Mark's entire bare body without a second of lingering, as if it's the most natural of things, unspoken but unnecessary to be spoken that Mark is entirely Johnny's property; that Johnny has long marked every square inch of Mark's body with his kisses and bites and lips and tongue. His worship.

*

The sky outside the window is just beginning to lighten, salmon and vermillion rays creeping from the horizon and slowly staining across the denim blue dawn. Sunrises in Seoul are later, and more picturesque, Mark remembers with contented bliss.

He peeks from beneath his eyelashes, so Johnny isn't aware that he's conscious. Johnny shifts his crossed legs in his seat as Mark stretches his with a calculated motion that makes the covers slip dangerously down the creamy expanse of his bare back, his muscled shoulderblades and the athletic and graceful curve of his spine which he knows drives Johnny to distraction.

Johnny clears his throat, dropping his gaze and pulls the cuff of his right hand back, looking irritated as he takes in the time on his pricey Rolex. Mark smiles, and rolls over again so the covers slip tantalizingly past the swell of his hips, letting out a barely audible but sensuous snuffle-moan.

He can't see Johnny from his new position, but hears his sharp intake of breath. He can almost read the heated thoughts racing through Johnny's mind, how he must be guilt-stricken at having predatory and perverse thoughts about Mark when he's innocently fast asleep, maybe even a building boner that he can't bear to wake Mark up to take care of because Mark is always petulant and childlike when he awakes. (At least, he pretends to be.)

Mark is surprised to find his heart racing shallowly in his chest, as he hears the soft creak of Johnny getting off the chair, to his feet, and padding noiselessly in his socks across the chilled parquet floor of their master bedroom towards the bathroom. The door slides closed with a rustle.

Johnny doesn't let out a single noise, but Mark knows him well enough to be certain he is inside the bathroom, furiously jerking off, furious at himself for being late for work and furious with Mark for effortlessly and unconsciously (he thinks) distracting him. Mark shakes his head in exasperation at himself -- he's hopeless, truly -- but he just likes teasing Johnny so.

*

He likes knowing that even after nine years, Johnny is still so riled up, so affected and hung up on his every movement, his every breath and word. He likes knowing that Johnny pays attention to him, even when he's sleeping. That Johnny can't take his eyes off him.

That Johnny is besotted with Mark, the way Mark is head over heels smitten with him.

*

It's absurd and dumb and juvenile, really, this game of power play. They're too old for it -- in a few years Johnny will probably have a distinguished sprinkling of salt and pepper on his temples, but with Mark's luck, he will probably be stupid enough to find it even more attractive. The time between young adulthood and middle age has flown by swiftly and unnoticeably, but it's at moments like this that seem so timeless that Mark wants to just freeze for a millisecond, in this molecule of eternity, and commit every single detail of that heartbeat to memory -- the sound of the faucet running behind the closed bathroom door; the early morning sun starting to warm his exposed skin; and a thin wall away, Johnny thinking of and only of Mark, utterly and completely in love with him.

***

Domesticity becomes Mark, Johnny thinks proudly, not for the first time as he watches Mark bustle around their small kitchen like a frazzled but contented housewife, making his breakfast before sending him off to work with a wifely kiss on his cheek.

Mark always chars the toast slightly and overcooks the eggs, but Johnny finishes it all anyway. When he compliments Mark on his perfect cooking, the face-splitting beam Mark breaks into is more than entirely worth it.

They've spent more mornings than he can count in this routine since they moved into this pocket-sized but cozy apartment months ago, but Johnny is still continually surprised by how... soft Mark is in the mornings, fluffy and shy and meek.

He's a bundle of unresisting sleepy warmth as Johnny steals a backhug and even a bold morning nuzzle on the neck, only blushing and swatting him halfheartedly away with the spatula, but his eyes glint naughtily and speak otherwise, alluring Johnny closer.

There is none of the wildness in Mark that Johnny fell for at nine in the morning, none of the dangerous sexiness, but sometimes he thinks he likes this kittenlike, playfully frisky Mark better.

Because it seems like Mark lets down his guard more, his defenses not fully up yet. And Johnny takes the chance to sneak past the gates, losing himself in the maze that is Mark.

Mark props his chin in his fists, elbows on the Formica honey-coloured tabletop as he watches Johnny eat fondly, enjoying the sight of him enjoying his homemade food. But later, he is the one who peppers sloppy, seductive kisses down the column of Johnny's neck, lips soft and warm against his skin.

"I love you," Johnny murmurs a little shyly before he checks his watch reluctantly and gets up to leave, arm trailing behind him and unwilling to let go of Mark's smooth hand.

Mark presses a tender kiss to his knuckles and replies easily, "I love you too."

It's a phrase they exchange every day, but Mark doesn't know how much Johnny means it, and why he is only brave enough to say it in the mornings.

But, Johnny thinks, as he slots his key into the ignition and revs up his car, purring to life beneath him like Mark in bed the previous night -- he blushes -- maybe he does know.

Maybe that's why his voice is always deceptively light, but he turns away to face the window for a moment before returning his attention to Johnny, running quietly admiring hands down his body and straightening his tie with precision, before handing him his briefcase and tilting his head up to peck Johnny's cheek with a shy blush.

In the morning light, his eyes sparkle with happiness, and for the millionth time, Johnny thinks silently, _What wouldn’t I do to keep that smile on that beautiful face for the rest of our lives?_


End file.
